Our household regularly watches a television show that last aired (in its original run) over half-a-century ago. What's My Line? -- the popular game show that ran from 1950 to 1967 -- featured four panelists, a moderator, and multiple guests. The panel had to try and guess what each guest did for their "line" of work. It's a fun show to watch, and a fascinating time capsule of its era. We usually watch an episode or two every evening.
Most everyone associated with the program is dead. This is true of Dorothy Kilgallen, a long-time panel member who died suddenly in 1965. One day, several weeks ago, we were watching an episode of the show on YouTube, and I read a few of the comments below the video. One of them purported to be from Dorothy's grandson, who said he was glad to be able to watch his grandmother at the top of her game, even though she long ago passed away. Whether or not that was truly Dorothy Kilgallen's grandson who wrote the comment, it got me thinking.
I don't have any audio or video of the loved ones who have passed away. My dad, both grandmothers, and great-grandmothers -- I remember all of them (the great-grandmothers to a lesser extent), but memories are all I have of them. It would be nice to have something more tangible -- something more audible or visual -- of them to reference.
Of course, this is a very mid-to-late-twentieth/early-twenty-first century desire. Before the widespread usage of sound and video equipment, all people had to remember the deceased were photographs. And, before those were around, memories were it. Perhaps a weathered tombstone in some forgotten cemetery might be one's last refuge for remembrance for those who came before?
Whatever scientific advancements didn't exist in the past, it is undeniable that we live in an age of technology where video recording for many has become ubiquitous. Assuming our current smorgasbord of social media, smartphones, selfies and videos continues in some form into the future, those who are alive now will no doubt have sound and visuals of their existence on this earth saved for posterity. When a now-younger person ages and eventually passes away in sixty or seventy years, no doubt their loved ones will think nothing of pressing a button (or sending a thought) to activate a replay of their friend or relative, their entire lives likely having been self-recorded.
Alas, folks like my dad (who died in 1997) and grandparents and great-grandparents (who died over thirty years ago) were just gone too soon. They missed the current phase of our technological revolution. I have photographs of them, which is more than the folks living in the early 1800s and before had of their beloved deceased. And yet, selfishly, I wish it were different.
As my dad, over the course of ten months, succumbed to pancreatic cancer, he would sometimes call my house and, if I wasn't at home, leave a message on the answering machine. I kept the very last one he left, a cherished, morbid memento of the man who was my father. You see, I knew then how important it would be to have a recording of his voice. I didn't want the last time I heard his voice to be the last time I heard his voice, if you know what I mean. But, a month or so after his passing, I deleted the message. 'This is kinda weird,' I thought, convincing myself it was somewhat ridiculous to cling to a random, taped accounting of a dead person. Some twenty years later, I wish I'd kept the message.
My maternal grandmother, Gummy, and I spent many hours with each other over the years, and talked on the phone quite often. She died in March of 1998 but, probably because of all the aforementioned time together, her voice can be still be recalled very clearly in my mind. It is, of course, still a memory, and memories can morph and sometimes become unreliable. In truth, with every passing day, her voice becomes ever so slightly less distinct.
I am happy that the path traveled by Dorothy Kilgallen allows her grandchildren to watch, hear and know her in a way that is gratifying. And I am happy that future generations will likely be able to access wonderful audio & video documentation of their friends and family through phones, social media, digital cameras, the Internet, etc. I just wish it had come a little sooner for dad and Gummy. To hear their voices again would be the sweetest sound, indeed.
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